<strong>The</strong> <strong>Schoolmaster</strong> & <strong>other</strong> <strong>stories</strong><strong>The</strong> requiem service begins. <strong>The</strong> blue smoke curls upfrom the censer <strong>and</strong> plays in the slanting sunbeams, thelighted c<strong>and</strong>les faintly splutter. <strong>The</strong> singing, at first harsh<strong>and</strong> deafening, soon becomes quiet <strong>and</strong> musical as thechoir gradually adapt themselves to the acoustic conditionsof the rooms…. <strong>The</strong> tunes are all mournful <strong>and</strong>sad…. <strong>The</strong> guests are gradually brought to a melancholymood <strong>and</strong> grow pensive. Thoughts of the brevityof human life, of mutability, of worldly vanity straythrough their brains…. <strong>The</strong>y recall the deceasedZavzyatov, a thick-set, red-cheeked man who used todrink off a bottle of champagne at one gulp <strong>and</strong> smashlooking-glasses with his forehead. And when they sing“With Thy Saints, O Lord,” <strong>and</strong> the sobs of their hostessare audible, the guests shift uneasily from one footto the <strong>other</strong>. <strong>The</strong> more emotional begin to feel a ticklingin their throat <strong>and</strong> about their eyelids. Marfutkin, thepresident of the Zemstvo, to stifle the unpleasant feeling,bends down to the police captain’s ear <strong>and</strong> whispers:“I was at Ivan Fyodoritch’s yesterday…. PyotrPetrovitch <strong>and</strong> I took all the tricks, playing no trumps….Yes, indeed…. Olga Andreyevna was so exasperated thather false tooth fell out of her mouth.”But at last the “Eternal Memory” is sung. Gelikonskyrespectfully takes away the c<strong>and</strong>les, <strong>and</strong> the memorialservice is over. <strong>The</strong>reupon there follows a momentarycommotion; there is a changing of vestments <strong>and</strong> athanksgiving service. After the thanksgiving, while FatherYevmeny is disrobing, the visitors rub their h<strong>and</strong>s<strong>and</strong> cough, while their hostess tells some anecdote ofthe good-heartedness of the deceased Trifon Lvovitch.“Pray come to lunch, friends,” she says, concludingher story with a sigh.<strong>The</strong> visitors, trying not to push or tread on each <strong>other</strong>’sfeet, hasten into the dining-room…. <strong>The</strong>re the luncheonis awaiting them. <strong>The</strong> repast is so magnificent that thedeacon Konkordiev thinks it his duty every year to flingup his h<strong>and</strong>s as he looks at it <strong>and</strong>, shaking his head inamazement, say:“Supernatural! It’s not so much like human fare, FatherYevmeny, as offerings to the gods.”92
Anton Tchekhov<strong>The</strong> lunch is certainly exceptional. Everything thatthe flora <strong>and</strong> fauna of the country can furnish is on thetable, but the only thing supernatural about it, perhaps,is that on the table there is everything except … alcoholicbeverages. Lyubov Petrovna has taken a vow neverto have in her house cards or spirituous liquors —thetwo sources of her husb<strong>and</strong>’s ruin. And the only bottlescontain oil <strong>and</strong> vinegar, as though in mockery <strong>and</strong> chastisementof the guests who are to a man desperatelyfond of the bottle, <strong>and</strong> given to tippling.“Please help yourselves, gentlemen!” the marshal’swidow presses them. “Only you must excuse me, I haveno vodka…. I have none in the house.”<strong>The</strong> guests approach the table <strong>and</strong> hesitatingly attackthe pie. But the progress with eating is slow. In the plyingof forks, in the cutting up <strong>and</strong> munching, there is acertain sloth <strong>and</strong> apathy…. Evidently something iswanting.“I feel as though I had lost something,” one of the justicesof the peace whispers to the <strong>other</strong>. “I feel as I didwhen my wife ran away with the engineer…. I can’t eat.”Marfutkin, before beginning to eat, fumbles for a longtime in his pocket <strong>and</strong> looks for his h<strong>and</strong>kerchief.“Oh, my h<strong>and</strong>kerchief must be in my greatcoat,” herecalls in a loud voice, “<strong>and</strong> here I am looking for it,”<strong>and</strong> he goes into the vestibule where the fur coats arehanging up.He returns from the vestibule with glistening eyes, <strong>and</strong>at once attacks the pie with relish.“I say, it’s horrid munching away with a dry mouth,isn’t it?” he whispers to Father Yevmeny. “Go into thevestibule, Father. <strong>The</strong>re’s a bottle there in my fur coat….Only mind you are careful; don’t make a clatter withthe bottle.”Father Yevmeny recollects that he has some directionto give to Luka, <strong>and</strong> trips off to the vestibule.“Father, a couple of words in confidence,” saysDvornyagin, overtaking him.“You should see the fur coat I’ve bought myself, gentlemen,”Hrumov boasts. “It’s worth a thous<strong>and</strong>, <strong>and</strong> Igave … you won’t believe it … two hundred <strong>and</strong> fifty!Not a farthing more.”93
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THESCHOOLMASTER&OTHER STORIESBYANTO
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ContentsTHE SCHOOLMASTER...........
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Anton TchekhovTHESCHOOLMASTER&OTHER
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Anton Tchekhovran out of the house,
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Anton TchekhovAt dinner Sysoev was
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Anton Tchekhovbeen born a teacher.
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Anton TchekhovENEMIESBETWEEN NINE A
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Anton Tchekhovthe drawing-room seem
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Anton TchekhovAbogin followed him a
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Anton Tchekhova pond, on which grea
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Anton Tchekhovsnug, pretty little d
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Anton Tchekhovshrugged his shoulder
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Anton Tchekhovspendthrift who canno
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Anton TchekhovTHE EXAMINING MAGISTR
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Anton Tchekhovwith an unpleasant sm
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Anton Tchekhovfidelity. His wife lo
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Anton Tchekhovshadows lay on the gr
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Anton Tchekhovshe said and got up.
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Anton TchekhovIIWHEN NADYA WOKE UP
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Anton Tchekhovdown. Nina Ivanovna p
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- Page 53 and 54: Anton TchekhovFROM THE DIARY OFA VI
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Anton TchekhovThe surveyor heaved a
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Anton Tchekhovpolice captains, I am
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Anton TchekhovTHE ORATORONE FINE MO
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Anton Tchekhovalms. Devoted to good
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Anton TchekhovThe door opens and in
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Anton TchekhovWe live in stone hous
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Anton Tchekhovbang on the head from
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Anton TchekhovHUSH!IVAN YEGORITCH K
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Anton Tchekhovor pauses, he has sca
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Anton Tchekhovand as he usually did
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Anton Tchekhovter dinner. Oh, Mila,
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Anton Tchekhov“No, not perhaps, b
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Anton Tchekhovthe fatal thought of